Stretched past the breaking point? Or trying to sabotage my visit?
I rubbed my eyes. Another cabinet beneath the sink. Another
child-proof latch. Such careful parents, pulling up the carpets,
washing the toys…
Cindy was cooing to Cassie.
Silently, I got down on my knees, freed the latch, and opened the
door.
Beneath the snake of the drainpipe were boxes of tissues and rolls of
plastic-wrapped toilet paper. Behind those sat two bottles of green
mint mouthwash and an aerosol can. I examined the can. Pinescented
disinfectant. As I replaced it, it fell and my arm shot forward to
catch it and mask the noise. I succeeded but the back of my hand
knocked against something, off to the right, with sharp corners.
I pushed the paper goods aside and drew it out.
White cardboard box, about five inches square, imprinted on top with a
red-arrow logo above stylized red script that read HOLLOWAY MEDICAL
CORP. Above that was an arrow-shaped gold foil sticker: SAMPLE,
PRESENTED TO: Ralph Benedict, M.D. A string-and-disc tie held the box
shut. I unwound it, pushed back the flaps, and exposed a sheet of
corrugated brown paper. Under that was a row of white plastic
cylinders the size of ballpoint pens, nestled in a bed of Styrofoam
peanuts. A folded slip of printed paper was rubber-banded to each
one.
I fished out a cylinder. Feather-light, almost flimsy. A numbered
ring girdled the bottom of the shaft. At the tip was a hole surrounded
by screw thread; on the other end, a cap that twisted but didn’t come
off.
Black letters on the barrel said INSLJEcT. I removed the printed
paper. Manufacturer’s brochure, copyrighted five years ago. Holloway
Medical’s home office was in San Francisco.
The first paragraph read: INSUJEcT (TM> is a dose-adjustable
ultra-lightweight delivery system for the subcutaneous administration
of human or purified pork insulin in 1 to 3 unit doses. lNsUJECr
should be used in conjunction with other components of the Holloway
INsu EASE (TM) system, namely, INsuIECT disposable needles and INSUFIIL
(TM) cartridges.
The second paragraph highlighted the selling points of the system:
portability, an ultra-thin needle that reduced pain and the risk of
subdermal abscesses, increased “ease of administration and precise
calibration of dosage.” A series of boxed line drawings illustrated
needle attachment, loading of the cartridge into the cylinder, and the
proper way to inject insulin beneath the skin.
Ease of administration .
An ultra-thin needle would leave a minuscule puncture wound, just as Al
Macauley had described. If the injection site was concealed, the mark
just might escape detection.
I groped around inside the box, looking for needles.
None, just the cylinders. Shoving my hands into the recesses of the
cabinet yielded nothing more.
Probably cool enough to store insulin, but maybe someone was picky.
Could Insufill cartridges be sitting on one of the shelves of the
chrome-faced refrigerator in the kitchen?
Standing, I placed the box on the counter and the brochure in my
pocket. The water in the toilet bowl had just stopped spinning. I
cleared my throat, coughed, flushed again, looking around the room for
another hiding place.
The only possibility I could see was the toilet tank. I lifted the cap
and peered in. Just plumbing and the gizmo that dyed the water.
Ultra-thin needle. . . The bathroom was an ideal hiding place-perfect
conduit from the master suite to the nursery.
Perfect for fixing up a middle-of-the-night injection: Lock the door to
the master suite, fetch the gear from beneath the sink, assemble it,
and tiptoe into Cassie’s room.
The bite of the needle would startle the little girl awake, probably
make her cry, but she wouldn’t know what had happened.
Neither would anyone else. Waking up in tears was normal for a child
her age. Especially one who’d been sick so often.
Would darkness conceal the needle-wielder’s face?
On the other side of the nursery door Cindy was talking, sounding
sweet.
Then again, maybe there was an alternative explanation. The cylinders
were meant for her. Or Chip.
No-Stephanie had said she’d tested both of them for metabolic disease
and found them healthy.
I looked at the door to the master bedroom, then down at my watch. I’d